


waiting for the rain to fall

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Grief, Other, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He’s like a thunderstorm," Mike had said, "except the rain hasn’t started falling yet." Hange almost sees it now, looking at Erwin’s reflection in the glass. The exudation of energy, like a storm, little flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder. Threatening rain, never letting it fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waiting for the rain to fall

The rain sliding down the window pane reminds Hange of him. Most things do. Something about grieving that no one ever talks about is the retrospective element. How all it takes is something as simple as a slant of light or a string of words to conjure a memory. The instinctual need to cast them aside because it hurt too much and then the inevitable surrender. 

In the end, the memories were all Hange had left.  

Behind them, Erwin writes, pen scratching against the paper in uneven strokes. Sometimes he crumples a piece of paper and throws it in the trash, his expression turning brittle for the briefest moment. He always takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself, before he begins again. Never allows himself a break, relentlessness driving him forward. The one thing Hange imagines will never change. 

 _He’s like a thunderstorm_ , Mike said once, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. It was almost disconcerting how often their pillow talk drifted to Erwin, but neither of them ever questioned it. Hange remembers running their fingers through his bangs and making a quip. Something about how he was more poetic than he’d led people to believe. He was always making comments like that. Vague expressions that Hange had to chew on for weeks or sometimes months to even begin to understand. Then the sheer truth of it would hit them when they least expected it. 

 _He’s like a thunderstorm_ , Mike had said, _except the rain hasn’t started falling yet_. Hange almost sees it now, looking at Erwin’s reflection in the glass. The exudation of energy, like a storm, little flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder. Threatening rain, never letting it fall. 

“I keep waiting for you to say something,” Hange says. Their voice sounds loud in the quiet room, but Erwin gives no sign that he’s heard them. “About him.” 

Hange turns around as Erwin sets his pen down. The dim glow of the candlelight emphasizes the harsh wings of his cheekbones, the deep circles beneath his eyes. “What is there to say?” he murmurs. 

“Something. Anything. I don’t know. The two of you were—”

“He’s dead, Hange.” Erwin reaches up and scratches at his right shoulder, the movement so seamless Hange wonders if it’s become a habit. Hange doubts it’s because the bandages itch. He opens his mouth, hesitates, and then says, “I - we have to keep moving forward. Now more than ever. And I can’t do that while shouldering a dead man.” 

It still surprises them, sometimes, some of the things he says. The callousness. “We’re not talking about some…some dead man, Erwin! We’re talking about _Mike_ ,” Hange exclaims. Erwin’s warning look makes it clear Hange hit a nerve. Hange advances, anger roiling in their gut, repressed for far too long.  “How can you talk about him like he’s some kind of…inconvenience!? The two of you were like brothers!” 

Erwin winces and his jaw flexes, but he holds his peace. His silence, the lack of reaction, just infuriates them more. 

“And what about me? How long have we been friends?” Their vision blurs, sharp pinpricks of pain behind their eyes, but at least their voice isn’t shaking. Hange reaches his desk and presses their palms on the surface, waiting until he meets their eyes before speaking. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I wanted to talk about it?” 

“Did it ever occur to you that I don’t?” he seethes. Hange blinks, softening at the rare of display of emotion. Their first instinct is to reach out but Erwin jerks back. He stands, somehow looking crooked though he stood ramrod straight, but taller than Hange. It’s a gesture designed to intimidate; Erwin never let people look down on him during an argument.  

Hange rounds his desk and approaches him with trepidation. “It might make things a little easier.” 

“It doesn’t.” He laughs, the sound humorless and bitter. It sounds more like he’s choking than anything else. “It really doesn’t.”

It’s the crack in his composure that Hange was looking for, evidence that they weren’t alone in suffering. Instead of relief, all Hange feels is hollow, and a sinking feeling in their gut. Hange opens their mouth to say something, anything to cut through the silence, but no words come out. Their eyes lock, soft brown meeting ice blue, and hold for an endless moment. It feels like static springing beneath Hange’s skin, tingling down their spine.  

“You’re about to do something foolish,” Erwin says flatly.

“I am,” Hange agrees, and presses their lips against his before they can think better of it.

He tenses, but doesn’t push them away like they expect. His hand falls heavy on their shoulder, not pushing away, but not quite welcoming. His eyes are still open when Hange pulls back, not quite as flat and lifeless as they were before. A spark of something flickers in their depths, a heaviness that resembles grief, a flash of desperation. Hange places a hand on his chest, marveling at the strong heartbeat still there. His hand runs along their shoulder and up the back of their neck, his fingers curling into their hair.  He hesitates before leaning forward and kissing them with cheerless passion. More than a decade’s passed since they've last kissed. It starts out awkward, noses bumping and teeth clicking together as they relearn the shape of each other’s mouths. He smells, tastes, and feels different than Mike and Hange thinks this once before they give up thinking entirely. 

The two of them stumble across the room, their mouths pressing together and tongues seeking each other out. Hange claws at his coat, tearing at the buttons. Erwin seems almost tender in comparison, the caress of his dry lips along their jawline is deliberate and joyless. It feels wrong, him moving too slow, them too fast.

It doesn’t stop them from grabbing at his jaw and pulling his lips to theirs once again. Or closing their eyes shut and tilting their head back in invitation. Erwin’s mouth finds the sensitive spot on their neck, right beneath their earlobe. It feels different without the rasp of stubble, or the smug smile Mike sometimes pressed against their neck. 

Hange pushes him back under the guise of removing his coat. It falls to the ground, revealing his too-thin frame and Hange’s eyes linger on the spot where his arm used to be. Erwin tenses and pulls back, a measured distance in his eyes. “I don’t think we should—” 

Hange makes a low sound in their throat, almost a growl, and reaches down to cup him through his trousers. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth that turns into a quiet moan when Hange rubs their palm against him. He shudders hard and Hange wonders how long it’s been since he’s allowed someone to touch him like this. 

Erwin reaches out for the waistband of their pants and gives a sharp, insistent tug. Hange takes the hint, toeing off their boots and peeling off their pants, resting a hand on his shoulder for balance. A shaky laugh bubbles up their throat, their nerves strung tight. It’s almost shameful how much they want this. How much they want the pleasure to distract them, want the hot steady pulse of sex that was as simple in a way their life wasn’t.

Goosebumps form along the length of their legs at the sudden chill as Hange kicks their pants aside. Even with their shirt still on, they feel stark naked in front of him. “You’re overdressed.” Hange drops a kiss on his lips and sets to work on the buttons of his shirt, unable to meet his steady gaze. 

Erwin places his hand on top of theirs and Hange almost screams in frustration. He never lets things be simple. But he surprises them again, lifting one of their hands to his lips to press a kiss to their palm, a wordless apology. “It’s…not a pretty sight,” he says. 

Their eyes met and held for an endless moment. Either he’s letting his guard down or it’s Hange’s memory playing tricks on them. It’s been doing a lot of that lately. Regardless, Hange leans forward and kisses him again. A sweet, deep kiss that Erwin seems to sink into, a low groan reverberating in his chest. Their blood heats at the sound, a sudden frantic need taking over as Hange eases his pants and underwear down his hips.

Hange pushes him back onto the couch, not giving him any time to react before settling into his lap. Erwin makes a noise of irritation, but voices no complaint, his one hand reaching up to grip their hip. He looks a little dazed, more than a little desperate. Hange imagines their expression mirrors his, but decides not to dwell on it. Instead, they rise up on their knees and reaches down with one hand to guide him. Hange hesitates, watching the muscles of his throat work, before moving their hand away and sinking down. 

Both of them release a long breath. Erwin’s eyes slide shut, his fingers digging into their hip, and the muscles of Hange’s legs quiver at the hot fullness. At how good it feels, even when it shouldn’t. Taking a hold of the back of the couch, Hange starts a steady, mechanical rhythm. It takes a moment to find their center, to remember how the two of them used to fit together. But once they do, they pick up the pace almost immediately. The last thing Hange wants is slow and romantic.

Erwin makes another low sound in his chest that Hange feels more than hears and tilts his hips, rising to meet their fast pace. Hange rides him mercilessly, lightning beginning to ball at the base of their spine. That’s how it always was with Erwin, fast and bright and intense, a strange static feeling beneath their skin. Not like Mike, Hange thinks, who was more of a slow burn, patient in all the ways Erwin wasn’t.

Hange buries their face in his neck, as if hiding their face out of shame, their cries muffled against his damp skin. 

“I’m not—” Erwin starts, but his words choke off when Hange gives a particularly vicious twist of their hips. Hange knows he’s not going to last long and it’s okay, they aren't either. 

Erwin shudders hard beneath them, his breath catching and his body going rigid as he comes in a rush of warmth. Hange feels a sharp stab of disappointment. Before the feeling settles, Erwin wordlessly reaches between their legs. 

Hange leans forward, resting their head on his shoulder while he touches them. Slowly, at first, running two fingers along their wetness before he slips them inside. Hange whimpers when he finds the right spot, closing their eyes and riding his fingers. The pressure building is enormous and their whole body shakes under the strength of it. All it takes is a flick of his thumb against their clit to send them over the edge, gasping and jerking against him. 

Erwin holds on as best as he can, running his hand up and down their spine throughout the aftershocks. Hange all but collapses on his chest. To say they feel better would be inaccurate. But Hange prefers the lingering ache of missing him - both of them, if they’re honest - to the disorienting sting of their loss. 

“What are we going to do?” 

“Move forward,” Erwin replies without missing a beat and Hange almost laughs. “We take it day by day and if that’s too hard, then we’ll take it hour by hour. Or moment by moment, if we have to. Just...keep reminding yourself you haven’t fallen.” 

Hange lifts their head, the words sounding familiar. “Mike used to say something like that,” Hange murmurs. 

“Mike is - _was_ a smart man.” Erwin winces, his eyes looking strange for a moment before closing off like a slamming door. “The fact of the matter is time will keep passing no matter how much we’ve lost, and we should move with it.” 

Hange nods for lack of something to say. A somber quiet falls over his office, the rain outside hitting the window like gravel. 

Erwin clears his throat and presses his hand against Hange’s hip like he wants them to move. “I should get back to work. I’m behind.” 

Hange stares at him for a long moment. The fact that his reaction isn’t surprising doesn’t make it any less disorienting. They regain their bearings, climbing out of his lap to retrieve their pants and boots. Hange hears the rustling of fabric behind them, hears him swear, but knows better than to offer help. One of the more infuriating things about him, he never lets people help him. Never understands that sometimes people need to feel needed. 

“You should try to get some rest tonight.” 

“I will,” Erwin lies. He walks across the room and sits behind his desk, returning to his work as if nothing has happened. He looks up, his features drawn tight. “You should too.” His eyes flick to the door and then back at Hange. 

Hange takes a deep breath and releases it, tossing a dismissive wave over their shoulder as they leave. Tomorrow things will go back to something resembling normal and neither of them will ever talk about this again. Hange doubts they’ll ever hear Mike’s name from Erwin’s lips again. 

Their room looks emptier than they remember. Hange glances as the bed as they brush past it but chooses the couch instead. It’s far from comfortable, but it’s not like Hange expects to sleep. Not tonight. 

Hange wraps their arms around their midsection and watches the rain. 


End file.
